


Touch

by JDramione



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abduction, Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Assault, Bucky Barnes Feels, Darcy Lewis Feels, Darcy hurt, Darcy injured, Darcy kidnapped, Depression, Dom/sub, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Hurt Darcy Lewis, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury, Injury Recovery, Kidnapping, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Sad, Self-Harm, Sexual Assault, Steve Rogers Feels, Torture, Touch-Starved, Trauma, Trust Issues, darcy abducted, darcy rape, darcy raped
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-01-21 19:38:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12464469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDramione/pseuds/JDramione
Summary: Darcy felt lied to. She hadn't known the horrors that existed. Had been protected from them. Had been raised in love and naivety, the kind you shelter children with to protect their innocence. She hadn't known evil like this before. Hadn't even questioned its existence.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my story! Hope you like it!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING. PLEASE READ TAGS.
> 
> A huge thank you to Sharon and Rachel for their time and efforts helping me Beta this chapter!
> 
> *Special thanks to Seona, who exceeded all expectations in her comments and editing, and gave me so much more to think on and mull over in regards to the story, characterization, etc... Thank you, sincerely.

 

***

  
She was so fucking cold.

 

Freezing actually.  The kind of icy chill that causes your skin to flinch in sharp agony.

 

She blinked, a tear spilling down her cheek.  Blinked again, eyes working to focus on something, anything, but there was nothing she could see.  The room was pitch black.

 

Darcy battled for breath.  Her chest hurt, so much that she couldn’t inhale deeply.  It was as if something heavy was seated across her chest, pulling tightly around her.  She tried to exhale, but there was a burst of unbearable pain.  She clutched at her chest.  That had hurt even more than it had on the inhale.

 

Her head was pounding and she felt dizzy.  Her stomach churned.  She was going to be sick.

 

Her hands were bound in thick metal cuffs behind her.  She pulled against the cold chains to no success.  They wouldn’t budge.  There was a heavy hardware collar around her neck, biting into the skin.  It burned when she tried to move and the chain clinked against the wall, causing her to recoil.

 

Her left arm hurt, and she turned her head, irritating her sore neck, to try to look at it.  Her neck was definitely bleeding from the collar - it felt raw and was difficult to move.  She could see two, no…make that three needle pricks in her arm where little dots of blood had dried.  What had they given her?  Her head pounded and her shoulders stayed in tight knots, anxious and afraid.

 

She was afraid to sleep.  She was afraid to stay awake.

 

Darcy was exhausted.  She scrunched up her face as she tried to remember what had happened.  
  
  
  
***

   
  
She had been walking down the street in Manhattan, carrying a bag filled with popcorn and junk food for movie night with the group, along with two coffees - one heavily sugared caramel drink that probably had more milk than coffee in it for Jane, and one plain iced coffee for herself.  She liked junk food as much as the next person, but coffee was special.  Something to be savored for its savoriness.  You had to appreciate a good coffee like you would a dry wine.  And besides, Darcy would rather eat her calories opposed to drinking them.

 

She had taken a sip of hers and smiled indulgently - it was going to be the best night.  She brightened just thinking about it.  Darcy looked forward to group movie night each week.  They took turns choosing a movie each week.  Steve was working through all of the Oscar winners for best picture from each year since he’d been in the ice.  Natasha preferred foreign films with subtitles.  Clint liked old westerns for some reason, and didn't care that everyone groaned at his choices each time his turn came up.  They could all quote several John Wayne movies now, much to everyone’s dismay.  Bruce preferred documentaries, where they were all forced to learn something for the evening.  Tony preferred action movies where lots of things constantly exploded, including the main hero who somehow always pulled through in the end, even as the group collectively tore those plots to shreds and corrected every unbelievable move and fight scene as near impossible or super ridiculous.  Natasha and Clint had even reenacted several moments, falling over in giggles at the impracticality of it all.    
  
  
  
Darcy secretly loved Tony’s choice of movie nights the best.  Pepper had a thing for Disney movies, and Darcy always encouraged everyone to sing along with every song.  Tony refused to participate, and Steve tried, bless him, but he couldn't carry a tune if his shield depended on it.  Darcy always had a soft spot for old movies from the 40s and 50s, specifically and particularly, musicals.  They made her think of her grandmother, which always made her both happy and sad in that beautiful, nostalgic way.  Steve seemed to really enjoy these with her, so she was glad to have someone to share her love of them with.  Natasha would probably deny it, but Darcy could tell they were favorites of hers as well.

 

Thor got to choose the movie tonight, and Darcy always found his choice in movies hysterical.  He had a thing for romantic ones, claiming they helped him to better understand his relationship with Jane.  Darcy rolled her eyes, because seriously, Jane was the epitome of feminine wiles and romantic leading ladies.

 

He had chosen The Notebook last time and Jane had to give him tissues throughout the entire movie - the big sap.  They’d gone through the entire box together.  Such a big, powerful guy, who melted at kiss scenes in rom-coms.  

 

Had Jane even showered this week?  Darcy had squinted to get a closer look - nope.  She still had a piece of blueberry pop-tart in her hair from breakfast.  Thor had looked at her lovingly as he put his arm around her and sank into the oversized chair beside Jane.

 

Tony had grumbled at first, but Pepper had shushed him and cuddled up to him on the far couch.  At the sight of the first tear that rolled down Thor’s cheek, Tony, appalled, could not be persuaded to stay.  He'd walked out, adult beverage in hand, leaving Pepper to sigh and get up to follow him to the garage.  He hadn't been able to still through any movie thus far.  Even with his own film choices, he just couldn’t sit still long enough.  His leg twitched and rocked, and his fingers strummed against his leg.  Pepper would always lovingly cover his hand with hers, and he would stop twitching and focus on her lovingly for a long moment before jumping up to refill his drink, offering one to everyone around him.  Pepper would just sigh, with a slightly exasperated, small grin on her face.

 

Come to think of it, though, Darcy had yet to see Tony finish a movie period.  She would have to work on that.  Bribe him somehow, maybe.  Or tie him down.  

 

Ha.  He'd love that.  

 

But, no… best leave that kind of thing to Pepper.  Darcy smirked to herself.

 

Clint and Natasha always waited for Tony and Pepper to leave before moving from their chosen place on the floor to the comfort of the now-empty couch.  Clint leaned against Natasha, arm draped over her always pulling her in close, somehow cuddling like a couple, when they couldn’t be farther from it.  Natasha even rubbed her fingers through Clint’s hair and neck, and Darcy always liked to watch Clint come down from his on-edge persona to almost purring in contentment and relaxation from Natasha’s touch.   He really was just a big cat.  Who really needed a stress ball.  

 

Bruce always sat near the group, at the kitchen table with a book.  Never quite _with_ the group - always a step or seat away.  He claimed he couldn’t focus on just one form of entertainment at a time, his eyes constantly drifting from movie to book, back to movie for a scene, before turning the page and getting immersed in his book again.  Darcy was glad he tried to be social, but it was obvious from his fidgeting that he just couldn’t just relax and be for an evening.  Still, she appreciated his presence and efforts.  She always made sure he had a bowl of popcorn on the table, along with a fresh mug of hot tea.  He always smiled gratefully, and waved the mug in her direction.  She’d respond with an air cheers from her hot chocolate mug, and they’d each go back to their different attentions.

 

Steve was the best to cuddle with, and Darcy always made sure she sat next to him on movie nights.  He indulged her politely at first, and then grew gradually warmer as movie nights became more routine.  He always gave her a shy smile when she sat next to him and was always gentle with her as she manhandled him to her liking.  An arm over her shoulder, resting on her waist as she shimmied up to his warmth and cuddled.  He was just so warm, and she was forever cold.  In the beginning, he would start the movie stiff and awkward, but usually by a few minutes in, would take a deep breath, sigh, and release its tension, and she would feel his body relax into hers and return the cuddle.  

 

The past few movie nights, however, he'd put his arm around her pulling her close before she could even begin her manhandling, and he'd even taken to rubbing her arms and massaging her neck as he watched the movie, pausing only when something of interest happened on screen, or until she would wiggle her shoulder to remind him to resume.  She wasn't even sure he was aware he did it, usually so engrossed in the film.  He would roll his eyes at her, and give her a friendly nudge to cut it out.  But she would just inch closer to him until he would tuck her in closer to him, more comfortably against his gorgeous, perfect chest, resting his chin to the top of her head, and cuddling properly.

 

Bucky hadn’t come to every movie night.  In fact, two weeks ago was only his second attempt at participating.  He’d only made it for half the movie on his first-time movie experience, and had gotten up and walked out during one of the more violent scenes.  Steve had quietly untangled himself from Darcy, glancing at her apologetically but encouraged by her nod of agreement towards Bucky back at him, and followed him out.  Darcy had been left alone staring after them for the remainder of that movie.  She’d definitely eaten all three of their share in popcorn that night.  

 

Bucky didn’t like being around everyone all at once - he seemed to get overwhelmed easily - and was definitely uncomfortable in this new setting.  The first movie night he had attended, Darcy had plopped down between Steve and Bucky, wiggling and full of elbows until they both scooted over just a bit to make more room for her, and then promptly cuddled up to Steve, pushing her shoes off and tucking them under her.  Little by little, she inched her bare feet towards Bucky throughout the movie.

 

Never quite touching, but refusing to distance herself from him just because he was sitting there being all closed off.  His arms had been crossed across his chest, a frown on his face, as his eyes stared straight ahead, towards the direction of the movie, but not quite watching it either.  He’d never reacted to her feet inching towards him, never moved away.  He hadn’t reacted at all.  He’d simply sat there, staring off into space in his quiet (yet peaceful, Darcy would admit) way.  Lost in his thoughts.  He did that a lot, but Darcy wasn’t bothered.  He would come around when he was ready.  

  
  
***

 

She remembered she had tripped walking back to tower, on a crack in the pavement, and stumbled forward a bit.  Her coffee and Jane’s had splashed on her hand, burning her fingers and she'd sucked in breath.  Somewhere in this slow motion event, someone reached out and knocked the bag out of her hands.  As she turned towards her bag in confusion, another someone reached over her from behind and covered her mouth with a large hand, and she heard rather than felt, a hard, loud crack; a taser possibly of some sort, felt a sudden and bright pain and then there was nothing.

 

Darkness.

  
  
***

  
  
Darcy wondered what Thor had ended up choosing for movie night.  She wondered if they had all enjoyed the evening together, not noticing she was gone.  She imagined them laughing and having fun together, not noticing anything was amiss.

 

She had lost track of time now, where she was, but knew several days at least had gone by.  She hadn’t been found yet, which meant they didn’t know where she was.  And if they didn’t know where she was yet, they couldn’t save her.  

 

She couldn’t be rescued.  They weren’t going to come for her.  The thought terrified her.  

 

They might possibly not come for her.

 

Her mouth was dry.  Her tongue thickly stuck to the top of her mouth as she tried to swallow.  She coughed, a wet sound that went deep into her chest.  She wondered if it was pneumonia.  She'd never had pneumonia before.

 

It was raining outside.  Her cell had leaks, making large puddles of water on the floor, and she was soaked to the bone.  The floor was ice-cold, concrete, and her teeth chattered together.

 

She tried to count:  one, two, three, four, five… like Natasha had taught her.  But she couldn’t keep her dread at bay.  She couldn’t focus.  

 

She tried thinking of the words to her favorite songs.  She was past able to hum, her throat refusing to work with her in the swallowing department.  But she went through several songs in her head.

 

Her mother’s voice in her head, singing sweetly to her as a little girl.  Darcy pushed the thought deep within her.  She couldn’t cry now - she had to be strong, had to keep it together.

 

There were heavy steps outside of her room.  More than one person.   Darcy held her breath and shrunk back as the door creaked open and light flooded the room from the hallway.  She cringed away from the light.  God, how long had she been in the dark?  The light fucking hurt.

 

Two men barged into the room.  The shorter of the two with a beard and a tattoo of a skull on the side of his face yanked her up forcefully.  That hurt - she shrieked in pain.  She couldn't help it.

 

The tall one, with no distinguishing features other than a large gap in his teeth, leered down at her.  He stood a foot and a half above her, easily, and waited for a long moment, then another.  She trembled.  He had hate in his eyes as he glared at her, and she shied away from him immediately.

 

She felt it before she saw it coming - he slapped her, hard.  It was white-hot; an immediate overwhelming hit that made her shaken brain go blank.  She would have fallen to the floor had the other man not held her up.

 

“Wha…?” she gasped, confused.

 

He hit her again, backhanded this time, the other way.  Tears filled her eyes, her mouth dropped open, aching, and she felt her face start to swell.  

 

Again, and again, he hit her, hard enough to bruise, across the face, on the arms, her legs, her stomach, her chest, her ass.  Some were outright slaps, some were punches, some drawing blood.  Each time, the man behind her righted her back for the next, until she couldn’t stand and was sobbing and begging them to please stop, to please let her go, until she was finally screaming “why?”  And the man in front of her kept hitting her, once, twice, she heard a crack in her ribs, until she finally blacked out.

  
  
***

  
  
She couldn’t move.  Her eyes were swollen shut and she tasted blood in her mouth.  She whined pitifully, shivering, her face scraping against the cold, wet concrete.  Her right arm was twisted and throbbing.  She felt immediate shooting pain when she tried to sit up, so she laid there, hands still bound behind her, neck still collared… unable to get up.  

 

Darcy started to cry.  She couldn’t move, she couldn’t see, where was she?  Her heart rate sped up and she full-on panicked, sucking in as much air as she could before trying again.  She couldn’t breathe.  She was going to die.  No one was going to come for her.  Fucking shit.

 

The door swung open and before Darcy could even flinch, she was yanked up to her feet.  Too quickly.  Her knees buckled, and she crashed back to the floor roughly.  She heard the same two men this time, and she listened, yes there was another voice.

 

One more.  Yes, there were three men now.  

 

Awesome.  Fuck.

 

They spoke in Russian, and she couldn't understand what they were saying to one another.  She wished she had picked up more from Natasha.  She wished she had remembered to wear her com when leaving the Avengers Tower.  She wished...

 

Natasha was going to lay her up one side and down the other if she ever saw her again.

 

Darcy felt and heard the chain attached to her collar fall to the ground, the weight released leaving her feeling lightheaded, and the chains connected to the cuffs on her wrists fell against the wall.  The sound of the chains creeped her the fuck out.  One of the men grabbed her by the collar and started dragging her out the room.

 

She cried out, but her mouth was so dry and her neck so swollen, only a harsh, cracked gasp escaped her.  Darcy was manhandled down the hall, and slammed face down on a table.  She groaned in pain, positive now that her shoulder was broken.

 

Something hit the side of her head, gashing her.  She felt the blood start to seep down her face, near her eye.  She desperately wished her hands to be untied.  The ache in her arms was fierce and she wanted to wipe the blood so it didn’t get in her eyes.

 

She was gasping and sobbing and oh, so scared.  Her legs were spread apart by one of the men, and a knife slid coldly against her back, ripping her shirt and her bra in one sweep, cutting a thin line of skin from lower back to neck.  She was grabbed and yanked upwards by the collar, neck jerking backwards, and unclothed from the front by disgusting, sweaty hands, and something inside of Darcy shut down.  

 

She didn't think she would ever forget the sound of the ripping.  She shuddered and stopped crying, terror coldly filling her veins and she felt oddly detached as she was shoved facedown once again on the cold, metal table.  She turned her head to the side, straining to breathe.

 

"Her pants too.” A calm voice spoke from the side of the room.  His english heavy with accent.   Darcy desperately wished she could open her eyes to see, but they were swollen shut, and only tears slipped down her bruised and cracked cheeks and lip.

 

She felt the knife at her waist and cried out as it cut her slowly, as the knife slid down the length of her jeans on her right side.  It was a shallow cut, like on her back, but fuck, it hurt.

 

The action was repeated on her left side and her jeans and panties were quickly removed from her body in a bloody mess.  She wailed.

 

The knife was dropped on the table next to where her cheek lay, taunting her.

 

Her body shuddered.  Tremors shook her and she sucked in breath, trying to ground onto anything, any thought that would keep her sane, that would protect her, to keep her safe.

 

They would come for her, please, let them come for her.

 

The man behind her leaned down to her ear.  He bit her ear.  She wept, bucking, trying to get him off of her.  Fighting.  

 

“If you move, I will kill you.  Immediately.  Say, Yes Sir.”

 

She bit her cheek as her teeth chattered and stilled.  “Y…yyes, Ssir…” Darcy stuttered.  He backed off of her, she heard his boots move away from her, to what she assumed was the back of the room.  The other man followed suit.

 

The man from across the room walked towards her slowly, deliberately.

 

“Darcy Lewis.  Age 24.  Interned for Dr. Jane Foster for eighteen months.  Currently employed by Stark Enterprises in the field of research.”  His accented voice was harsh and clipped.  “Bachelor degree in Political Science and you are currently working on your master’s degree with a Stark funded research grant.  You work with the…" he sneered, “Avengers.”

 

She jerked her head forward, trying to nod.  
  
  
  
“Let’s make something very clear here, Darcy Lewis.  You are going to die here.  Maybe today, maybe next week, maybe a year from now.”

 

Darcy’s mind went blank.  Sheer terror had finally taken over, and she was barely present, barely breathing.

 

“You are going to give us every piece of information you know about the Avengers, about Stark Research, about Jane Foster’s research, about Bruce Banner's research... every piece of information you can think about The Black Widow, about Captain America, about Tony Stark, about Bruce Banner.”

 

He breathed on her face - she hadn’t even realized he was hovering over her until she felt his harsh breath against her nose.  He disgusted her, she was going to vomit.

 

“And most importantly, everything you know and can think of about the Winter Soldier.”

 

She heard his sneer.  She felt his hand sliding down her naked and bleeding back and bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming.  Her knees were buckling and she was about to fall.  He must have seen her wobble, because he laid his hot, heavily breathing body over hers, weighing her down, into her stomach against the cold table.  She jerked and gasped, in horror and disgust and fear.

 

“The more you tell us, the longer we will let you live.  The better the information, the less pain you will feel.”

 

Darcy willed herself to die right then.  She was going to die.  It was going to be long, or maybe short, but definitely a painful and drawn-out death.  Her worst nightmare was coming true.  

 

“It’s alright if you have nothing to say to us yet, little girl," he whispered.  “Today will be just a sample of what is to come if you choose not to talk.”

 

The knife scraped against the table.  She heard the sharp hiss of sliding metal against metal as it was slowly dragged close to her cheek.  He picked it up and put the knife against her throat, just under the collar, pressing the blade against her neck.  Darcy's chest heaved as she gasped.  Lifting the metal collar upwards, he shoved it against her jaw, and forcing her head back, he slowly slid the knife across the collar.  As if to mime what he was about to do; threatening her.  

  
  
"No...," she breathed, quickly realizing his intent.

 

The smooth motion of metal against metal hissed again, slower this time, the sound of it threatening to overpower her senses.  Oh God, that sound.  

 

Darcy couldn't control her body's base need to protect itself.  She came to life, bucking against him, trying to jerk away, baring teeth, screaming incoherently, but his other hand, which had been moving simultaneously down her back close to her ass to hold her down, lifted from her body and shoved against her skull, slamming her head hard against the table, forcing her still.  

 

“No, please don't, please stop, no... please don't!” she pleaded, she begged, she shrieked.

 

He slid the knife, then, carefully the length of her throat, and she felt it cut her, drawing blood, but not pushing or going deep - oh god, he was going to kill her - and then he lifted the knife.  Tears filled her eyes, causing her vision to blur.  The burn on her neck flared to life and throbbed and she sobbed, thrashing against him.

 

The collar slipped back down over the cut on her neck as he let go, and it was too much for her.  

 

The pain on her neck shocked her, it flared to life immediately.  Quick, jolting, unbearable, agonizing pain.

 

She lost it.

 

The knife was then thrust against her cheek, slicing her deeper than it had to her neck, and she stuttered and stilled immediately as he pulled it down her face, cutting her deeply.  Her brain shut down.  She blacked out, or fainted, screaming, back bowing in agony.

  
  
***

  
  
She didn’t wake up in her cell, for the first time since arriving.  How long had it been now?  A week?  She was laying on a table, her hands now tied to the table above her head instead of behind her.  She came to, crying.  She was going to cry until she died.  She wouldn't be able to help it.  The thought made her unbearably depressed.  She was just a research assistant, since being upgraded from non-paid intern once Janie and she had gotten a job from Tony Stark.  None of the Avengers would even notice she was missing… Well, maybe at movie night when they realized there was no food…  It was a terrifying thought.  She didn't fully believe it, didn't want to, but couldn't get the mantra out of her mind that she was all alone and that no one was going to come for her.

 

“Ah, good.  You’re finally awake.  Shall we now begin?” The man with the Russian accent asked Kindly, almost gently, as if he cared about her.

 

Darcy struggled to open her eyes.  Her left eye cracked open, blurry, but finally focusing.  She looked to her right and saw an IV in her arm.  They were giving her something.

 

“What… IV…?" she rasped, questioningly.

 

She heard him smile.  Sick fucking bastard.  “Nothing you need to worry about, my dear.  Just keeping you hydrated is all.  We don't want you dying too quickly now that you are going to share with us, do we?  Now, don't make me ask again.  Are we ready to begin?"

 

She was cold, naked and trembling, scared, miserable, terrified, and a complete and utter  mess.  She shook her head slightly, confused.

 

“No?”  He touched her then, his sweaty hand on her collarbone, and started trailing down her body, to her breast, lower.  “Not a problem.  I've got something prepared for you that I think may change your mind."

 

All at once, Darcy knew what was about to happen and she once again detached herself from the present.

 

She felt very young all of a sudden.

  
  
She hadn't purposely waited for anyone special, definitely not for marriage or for some noble cause.  She just hadn’t found the person she wanted to share that special moment with yet.  She had wanted someone preferably a little experienced, someone who would be kind and gentle and patient with her, someone who she wanted to see the morning after to eat Twizzlers with or cuddle up and do a crossword puzzle naked, wrapped in blankets on the couch.  She wanted the act to be special and romantic, but not so much that she couldn’t easily go about her normal day the following day.  She wanted to fall in love with a person, and not the act of sex.  She wanted to save herself for someone she loved and would love forever.  And this man in front of her, this slightly overweight, sweaty, red-faced person with round glasses, who had cut her and hurt her and tortured her, was going to take her virginity from her.  She wouldn't get to share it with someone special.  He was going to take something from her that she couldn't get back. Like her face, which she knew by feel alone, would forever hold a scar to share her horrors with the world.  These men, this man... they were taking everything from her.  They were killing her.  They were killing her.

 

She bucked up on the table, her back bending in an arc, desperate to fight him, yanking against her bindings, fighting, screaming, snarling against this evil man who wanted to hurt her.  Her teeth came out, gnashing and she roared her frustration at being touched, at being held down, to the world.

 

“Please Heimdall," she begged. “Please see me.  Please send Thor.  Please, please..."  Her cries were desperate, raw.  

 

Nobody came to help her.

 

The man’s hand proceeded down her body as if she wasn’t doing anything.  He touched her and she slammed her knees together.

 

“Alexei, Bogdan.  Hold her down, please.”

 

The two other men in the room strode over quickly and each grabbed a knee and forcefully spread them apart.  The man started to climb on the table, on top of her…

 

Darcy went blank.  A part of her died on that table.  The world tilted and she cried out, “Why…?”

  
  
***

  
They told her what a good whore she was, for days in a row.  They had all enjoyed her now, all of her.  She had been naive enough to think losing her virginity would be the worst they could do to her.  She now knew differently.

 

She had always imagined herself very Peter Pan-esque. That she would in so many ways never grow up. Never really become an adult. But now, she knew she would never unsee the things she had seen. She would never again understand the innocence she had viewed as the real world before. These men had ruined her. She had been forced to grow up overnight and was disgusted by what she now understood to be in the world.

 

Darcy felt lied to. She hadn't known the horrors that existed. Had been protected from them. Had been raised in love and naivety, the kind you shelter children with to protect their innocence. She hadn't known evil like this before. Hadn't even questioned its existence.

 

And not only did she know now, she was saddened by it. Tremendously sad. Depressingly sad. The world wasn't happy anymore.

 

Darcy - happy, fun, positive, outgoing, talkative, cuddly Darcy - now felt cold and alone, and achingly quiet.  A gaping, silent chasm in her soul had been forcefully punched into her gut, leaving a wide, open wound in its place with nothing left to fill the hole.  Her heart hurt.  Because of people like this.  Men who had hurt her and kept wanting to hurt her.  These people who lived to cause pain in others.    
  
  
Her brain couldn't wrap itself around the knowledge.  She was experiencing, but couldn't comprehend it.  Her world. Her safe world full of dreams and what could be's and what if's...  Now was small, and frigid, with no more hope.  No more dreaming.  No longer safe.  It would never be safe.

 

She would never be safe.  
  
  
  
The words echoed through her, terrifying her.

 

Her mouth had swollen shut after one particularly violent event, and they had punished her for not talking right afterwards, even with her trying.  The three men lived for the violence they caused her and relished her pain.

 

Words had started tumbling from her lips after Alexei had stabbed her in the shoulder blade after one particularly gruesome questioning session.  He left the knife in when he threw her back in her cell.  She couldn’t pull it out.  She was bleeding out, and prayed for the blood loss to end her life quickly.

 

She was unconscious before her head hit the floor.

  
  
***

 

They fed her something through an IV, but she continued to lose weight.  She was never overly concerned about her weight before, enjoying her curves more than worrying about them.  But her ribs now stuck out and she could feel the sharpness of her hipbone against the floor.

 

They let her drink from the puddles in her cell now, and laughed as they watched her desperation for water.  She felt thirst every moment of every day now, and her hunger pains were growing stronger by the day.  Her mouth stayed dry and she had long ago lost her voice from screaming.

 

Her room was dark, black, and she had come to appreciate the safety that she now associated with it.  Her fear now came from the light that pierced her whenever the door opened.  Because the open door meant torture and pain... and at some point, her death.

 

She tried to embrace death at this point.  It was inevitable.  She continued to lose blood, she had been stabbed, she had been cut, she had been raped.  She was positive her shoulder would never be able to heal - it was definitely broken and made her permanently miserable from the pain.  She couldn't get comfortable.  And they had left the knife in her.  She wondered if she would die from infection or blood loss first.  Or hunger or thirst.

 

The Avengers weren’t going to come for her.  It had been too long.  She succumbed to this knowledge, and it had been a very real, truly heartbreaking moment for her.  She hadn't cried, though, for once.  She just went very still, and felt very lost.  She stared into the empty darkness.

  
  
***

  
  
The day Bogdan took a steel pipe to her knee, and to her hip, was the day she begged them to kill her.

 

They threw her back in her cell, and shut the door, laughing.

 

Death was coming for her.  She knew.  And she wasn't scared anymore.  

 

She just felt pain.

  
  
***

  
  
She'd heard the explosion, but it hadn't done much more than rattle the walls of her cell.  It had woken her up.  She was so tired.

 

Her eyes drooped.

 

The door opened slowly, but she didn't even open her eyes.  Didn't even acknowledge it.

 

She heard him step towards her.  And then another step, closer.

 

They would drag her out when they wanted.  They would hurt her when they wanted.  They would kill her when they wanted.

 

She could barely breathe it hurt so bad.  Her leg was broken.  Possibly her hip.  She drifted in and out of consciousness, shivering and laying on the cold, wet concrete.  She coughed a deep, crackling sound.  She couldn't remember what it felt like to be warm.

 

“Darcy,” a voice whispered, deep and gravelly.

 

Her eyes shot open in the dark, desperate to focus against the harsh light coming in the doorway from the hallway, and she couldn't stop the whimper that escaped her.  It sounded weak and small.  She struggled to turn her head to look at him.  

 

He knelt in front of her so she didn't have to move and gave her a long look with his deep blue eyes.  She watched him set his rifle down slowly beside him, her eyes following the movement of his arm as he did so before darting back to his face, quickly glancing from one of his eyes to the other.  She was having difficulty focusing.  

 

His arms reached out to touch her, and she flinched.  He quickly retreated, unwilling to… he hesitated.

 

Her lip trembled.

 

“Bu...Bucky…" she cracked.  Please.  Please be real.  Please rescue her.  Please kill her.  Please take the pain away.  She whimpered.  She couldn’t take her eyes off of him.   She was begging him.  

 

His eyes bore into hers, jaw fierce.  He was searching for something, he was seeing something inside of her, he could see her.  

 

She shrunk into herself.  She couldn't look at him.  She moved her gaze to the floor.  She couldn't let him see.  Wouldn't let him see that she what she had become.  What they had done to her.   _Such a good whore_ , echoed in her mind.

 

Wouldn't let him see that she was broken.  She didn't want _anyone_ to see her.  

 

To see that those three men had broken her.  

 

She whined softly, brokenly.

 

She felt him hesitate a moment more and then he spoke into his com, “Steve, need you up here.  Get Bruce ASAP."

 

There was static… “On our way now, Buck,”  Captain America responded.   

 

There was a loud crack of thunder.  "Got one,"  Thor boomed.

 

She heard guns firing and voices yelling, “Two down.”  Darcy heard Natasha’s voice crackling over the coms.

 

“A third down here,”  Clint responded.

 

“Search the facility.  Are there more?”  Natasha asked.

 

“Tony, do a flyover and see if you can trace anyone else in the building."

 

“Already on it, Captain.  Anyone found her yet?"  Tony asked, voice hesitant.  
  
  
  
Darcy watched Bucky take a deep breath.  She looked back at him, his face tight and his voice controlled, but she could hear the rage in him.  Could see his anger in the tense way he held himself.  He was almost shaking with it.

 

She trembled weakly, shivering.  She was so tired.

 

“I've got her,” Bucky spoke into the coms, his voice like gravel.    
  
  
  
Her eyes drooped.  Her body sagged slightly despite the pain it woke in her shoulders - they’d chained her to the wall after the last session, as if she needed more of a reminder that she was wholly in their power.   
  
  
  
The clanking of the chains seemed to shock Bucky back into movement.  Standing up, he reached over her with his metal arm and began undoing her chains above her head.  “This is going to hurt like a bitch, I'm sorry,” he said softly.

 

She couldn’t control the flinch her body gave as he jostled her momentarily.  She gasped sharply as he gently started to lower her arms, pain prickling as blood rushed back down to her hands.  She breathed through it mutely - she had learned to just accept the pain.

 

Everything hurt, oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck, fuck…. She honestly couldn’t tell where it hurt anymore.  She hurt everywhere.  She couldn’t move.  She couldn't breathe.  Oh fuck.

 

Tears pooled in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.

 

He backed off again after setting the chains on the ground, squatting next to her.  He watched her carefully, his eyes taking in all of her.  There was a heavy understanding in his gaze, and a sadness.

 

“Bucky?  Where are you?  Where is she?"  She could hear the worry in Steve’s...no, in Captain America's deep voice.  This was the Captain.

 

His calls got louder as he approached her cell.  Her eyes swept to look at the little window, closed off by a metal cover.  At least there was a window, she had thought.  Even if it hadn't allowed any light in.  

 

“Buck…” He skidded to a stop as soon as he saw them, his eyes widening.  “Oh my God," he breathed.

 

Darcy's brain struggled to keep up.  She knew she was being rescued.  She knew they were here to help her.  And yet, these two, huge super-soldier men were coming into her dark space and she couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her.  Her eyes grew wide and she shook from head to toe.  She was naked, but her nudity didn’t bother her.  It was the vulnerability she felt being in the same room with them.  She needed them to leave.  She needed them out.

 

She needed...

 

This room, held such pain and misery for her.  These two large men were giving her the same feelings of terror and horror and vulnerability that she couldn’t define much less voice out loud.  She started hyperventilating, panting and then...screaming, unable to help it.  Her hands were now free and she was clawing at her throat, clawing at the metal collar that dug into her skin, clawing at the metal cuffs remaining on her arms.  She was terrified, and they kept getting closer.  She was wild, untamed.  She was losing her fucking mind.

 

She couldn’t help it, she couldn't stop.  She was tearing at her skin around the collar, begging for it to come off…

 

“Collar... off... help..."  The words weren't more than a whisper, her throat raw, her body trembling.

 

"Doll," Bucky's voice was steady and calming.  "Doll, we can’t take it off yet."  

 

Darcy whined, feeling panicked.

 

"I will, I swear it.  I'll take the damn thing off as soon as we are out of here.  Steady, I know it hurts, I know.  Calm down,”  Bucky’s voice was grounding.  She tilted her head, trying to listen to him, working to focus on what he was saying.

 

He reached a hand towards her and…

 

She jerked back so hard, she slammed her head into the wall behind her.  Panic fully set in once more, and she wailed, broken and choked.

 

Bucky backed off immediately, pushing herself to his feet and away from her as fast as he could, against the wall in front her.  He had his hands up to her in supplication.  "You're okay, doll," he said quietly.  "You're safe now.  Just breathe.  We're gonna get you out."     

 

Captain America, however, stepped in to help her.  "Where is a blanket?  Someone grab something - we need to cover her.  Shit, where are her clothes?  It’s fucking freezing in here."  He glanced around, eyes wide and horrified,  "What the fuck is this room?  Fuck!”

 

No one said anything about his language.  They were all in agreement - this was a seriously fucked-up situation.

 

Captain America hovered over her, asking what could he do, how could he help her, what did she need?

 

The more he hovered, the more panicked she got, the more anxious she felt, and the higher her voice escalated.  She was shrieking now, and gasping, sobbing, clawing.  Her nails on the cell wall behind her, bleeding... She was lost, she was so lost…

 

“For fuck’s SAKE, get out!  You are making it worse!” Natasha snapped, entering the room and quickly taking everything in at once.

 

Steve scrambled for the door, where Thor now stood, staring at Darcy in horror.  

 

Bucky stayed where he was.  Natasha gave him a level look which he returned evenly, holding her gaze for a long moment.  Her eyebrows twitched and he nodded almost imperceptibly back at her.  

 

As soon as Steve moved out of her bubble, Darcy stopped and breathed, as Bucky instructed.  She was still panicked and shaken, eyes wild, and nerves shot to fuck, but she wasn’t screaming anymore, wasn’t begging.

 

Natasha walked slowly to Darcy, one step at a time.  Her hands facing upwards as she knelt down and slowly reached out towards Darcy.

 

“Kotyonok,” she said gently, softly.  She touched the tips of Darcy’s fingertips with her own.  Darcy shuddered at the touch.

 

“You are safe, Kotyonok.  We are going to take you home now, okay?  You are safe.”  She spoke gently, steadily.

 

Darcy shook her head and stuttered.  “No, I’m not going home.  I’m not going home.  I’m dying."  Her voice broke.  " _Please... I’m dying, Natasha_.”

 

Steve sucked in a deep breath.  Bucky's jaw tightened. 

 

“No, Kotyonok," Natasha murmured.  "You are not dying.  You are going to live.  I swear it.”  Her eyes were kind; understanding.  Patient.

 

Darcy couldn’t breathe.  She couldn’t take a deep breath.  Dots of gray threatened her vision.

 

“Bruce,” Natasha requested, keeping her voice calm and light.

 

Bruce stepped in slowly, needle in hand.  Darcy shook in fear, panic clawing at the back of her throat.  “Nnnoo…” she struggled.  “No needles.  Please, no more needles.”

 

“Darcy,” Bruce looked ill.  “We have to move you and it’s going to hurt..."  His voice trailed off.  "A... a lot.  This will help with the pain, and nothing more.”

 

She shook her head.  “No, please.  Please, no.”  Her heart was racing.  She struggled to shift away from them, but the knife in her shoulder blade hit a nerve causing her to grit her teeth and whimper out in pain.

 

She couldn’t make any sense.  She couldn’t think or remember what it felt like to be safe.  To feel safe.  She was gasping, and there was so much blood.  Why was there so much fucking blood?

  
  
Bucky plucked the needle from Bruce’s grip, stepped forward, gently grasped Darcy’s arm as she started to struggle away and sunk the needle into her arm.  She was so weak, she couldn’t fight him if she tried.  She couldn’t lift her hand or her head anymore.  Her body grew heavy quickly, and she felt a warmness spread up her arm, into her chest and...

 

"Buck..." Steve said softly.  "Careful of the knife."

 

"I see it."

 

His arms caught her as she tipped over, one warm, one cold, both solid.  One under her head, the other under her knees.  He wouldn’t drop her.  She could fall, finally, caught.  Safe.  She felt safe.  He was warm.  Oh my God, he was so warm.  Darkness came to her, for the first time in this long ordeal, and for the first time, she wasn’t worried.  Someone was going to care for her.  She wanted to go home.

 

She wanted to be safe.

 

***

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my story! Hope you like it!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING. PLEASE READ TAGS.
> 
> A HUGE thank you to Sharon and Rachel for their time and efforts helping me with this chapter!
> 
> *Special thanks to Seona, who exceeded all expectations in her comments and editing, and gave me so much more to think on and mull over in regards to the story, characterization, etc... Thank you, sincerely.

 

***

 

She was coming to slowly, hovering somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.  She was being rocked back and forth, steadily, almost comfortingly, if not for the sharp, stinging pain that was shooting up her body with each small movement.  Cold pricked her skin, icy needles stabbing into her, causing her to gasp and flinch.  Everything felt cold except for her side, which was firmly pressed against a strong body.  Bucky was breathing deeply, and it calmed her slightly to focus on the steady rise and fall of his broad chest.

  
There was a murmur of voices all around her.  Low grumbles, gentle, and calming.  The kind of sounds she would wake up to as a kid on Thanksgiving morning, after the whole family had come in to stay together the night before and woken up together, quietly reminiscing of the families that had existed long before.  Those low, happy, over-coffee morning discussions between adults that always woke her to a happy calm and made it difficult to choose between letting the gentle sounds lull her back to sleep or the pull to climb out of bed quickly to join, because she was missing some family memory that she needed to be a part of.  It made her think of family.  

  
But she was cold now, and in the dark, the gentle back and forth motion rousing her from sleep.  None of that mattered now anyway.  They were all gone now.  Darcy mentally sighed.  At least she had Jane.  She wondered again where Jane was and what she was doing.  She wasn’t here.

  
She drifted, swaying gently…

  
“Set her down here, Bucky, on her side,” Bruce directed over the murmurs.  “Watch her leg there…”

  
"...and her shoulder, Bruce," Steve murmured.  "There, see?"  There was a soft touch against her shoulder, and Bruce went quiet for a long moment.

  
Darcy felt a jolt, and and couldn’t contain the cry that left her, being jostled awake onto a cot, her body hurting fiercely, flamingly, reminding her that pain was present and constant.  Her eyes were too heavy to open, but she was conscious of her surroundings.

  
“Elevate her feet above the level of her heart.  She’s in shock.”  Darcy felt her feet lifted and set delicately back down on several pillows.  She was cold all over, trembling, and sucking in as much air as her bruised body would allow.  Her chest hurt and her heart pounded.

  
The hand that had been under her neck as she had been settled on the cot moved to lay gently on her forehead, strong and light, but warm.  
  
  
“She’s burning up,” Bucky said quietly.

  
“Natasha, hand me that IV bag.  Need to get a line started.”  Bruce started rummaging through the drawers of medical equipment.  The clink of metal made Darcy desperate to shrink back into unconsciousness.

  
“On it.”  Natasha’s response was steady and calm.  
  
  
Darcy felt the prick of a needle slide into her arm.  She struggled, half asleep but aware, wanting to look, wanting to stop it - stop the needles, goddamn it.  Her eyes were so weighed down, she couldn’t open them, her limbs heavy, she was so very tired….

  
“Get the cuff around her, I need a blood pressure reading.”

  
Someone grabbed her arm and wrapped something around the top of it.  Darcy’s eyebrows knitted together as she tried to take in her surroundings.  There was a tightening on her arm, a pinching compression, and then it eased slowly.  

  
“Blood pressure is dropping,” Tony stressed.  “What is her pulse/ox?”

  
A monitor was slid on her finger.  An escalating beeping sound filled the carrier and a momentary silence fell over the group as they all listened for a reading.  The hand in her hair remained, thumb brushing at her forehead slightly, gentle and soothing.

  
“It's low.  I don’t like it,” Bruce muttered.  “Steve, set her up with a face-mask.  Let’s also do an EKG.”

  
“Starting her on oxygen now,” said Steve from somewhere above her, rolling the machine over to where Darcy lay.  He fussed with the tubing for a long moment before turning the mask towards Darcy.

  
“Just hold the face mask beside her mouth and nose.  Don’t touch it to the cut on her cheek.  Definitely going to need stitches,” Bruce sighed resolutely.  Darcy felt fingers gently prod her cheek.  “Looks like it’s also infected, I’m going to start her on some serious antibiotics.”    
  
  
Darcy felt a steady stream of cold air hit her nose and mouth.

  
Hands were touching her now, pushing into her somewhat harshly and then letting go, her chest, her heart, under the collar near her neck… putting sticky things on her and attaching wires.  She shivered, a whine escaping her.

  
“EKG is up and recording.”  Natasha said.

  
“Clint, stabilize the knife.  Use gauze and tape.  We don’t need it moving.”  Bruce took charge, now fully in his comfort zone.   
  
  
The touch to her back lit Darcy up in agony. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream, the pain too great to allow sound to escape.  Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to fall.  She sucked in a harsh breath.  
  
  
“Numb it,” Bucky demanded.

  
A cold liquid was sprayed on her back, and the tension in her shoulder blades eased, the pain receding as the numbing agent worked its magic.

  
“Jarvis, have an emergency ambulance on standby at the Avenger’s Tower.  Our ETA is twenty-two minutes, and we are going to need her at the hospital ASAP," Tony instructed into his com, his voice carrying over as he strolled to the cockpit, going through systems check and working to get the Quinjet up in the air.

  
Two hands started fiddling with the collar around her neck.  One warm, one cold, the sound of it calibrating as the hand poked and prodded her.  Bucky, working on the collar, as promised. He leaned close to Darcy as he pulled the collar up and peered underneath.  He sucked in a short breath of air.

  
“We need to get this collar off of her neck, now.  Steve, grab me that screwdriver,” Bucky commanded suddenly.

  
Darcy felt pressure on the side of her neck, intense and sharp.  She gasped, jerking present, a heavy sob escaping her.  “Stop,” she mumbled, fighting against the drugs, fighting against this pressure.  Her head started to pound, light seeping in under her eyelids, as she struggled to open them.  Her body was so damn heavy, but concentrating and groaning, she forced her arm to push at him, intent on shoving him away, making him stop.

  
“Easy… Easy, doll,” Bucky murmured, grabbing her hand and settling it back down on her naked abdomen, and then quickly letting go, as he worked the screwdriver into the collar.   
  
  
Darcy internally cringed, the vulnerability of realizing she was naked on that table, being looked at by her friends.  Horror had long ago set in, and this coming awareness only _reminded_ her of what had happened, all of it.  It was so difficult to think on, she didn’t want to think, didn’t want to remember.  She was suddenly resentful of these men, these heroes, these gods.  Didn’t they see how vulnerable this made her?  Didn’t they realize she couldn’t do this, couldn’t be a part of this?  She wanted to be alone, she wanted to be empty, she didn’t want to think, to remember.  She wanted to be covered.  She wanted to leave.  
  
  
She cried softly, needing them to stop and leave her alone.  Didn’t they know how much she hurt?  And they kept picking at her, prodding her, pushing at her.    
  
  
They kept _touching_ her.  

  
Lightning flashed from all sides of jet, lighting up the skies around them in an eruption of color.  There was a blinding flash that even Darcy could see through her closed eyelids.  Thunder growled sharply, striking and deafening, growing…

  
“Thor, cut that shit out,” Tony snapped.  “I’m trying my damndest to get us back to New York in one piece.”  
  
  
“My Jane will want news of our success in finding Lady Darcy,” Thor said, upset.  He sounded torn.  “I shall go ahead and prepare her.”  
  
  
“Alright, big guy,” Tony agreed, gently.       
  
  
Darcy heard the back door of the Quinjet open, and in a moment, Thor was gone, flying from his great Hammer into the big sky towards Manhattan.  Darcy wondered what it felt like to be pulled by mew-mew into the sky, flying...

  
The hands on her neck were more invasive by the minute, prying at her.  Darcy trembled, cowering.    
  
  
“Steve, pull the other side of this slowly.  Gotta pry the damn thing apart and the angle is bad.  It looks like they welded it on,”  Bucky took a deep breath. “Fuck.”  

  
Darcy felt him pull the collar away from her neck, pain again flaring up, this time creating spots of light in her vision.  Her nerves were shot, her skin on fire.  She struggled against her eyelids to open, she pulled upwards at the eyebrows…

  
Light flooded the room, unfocused and blurry.  She blinked slowly against the brightness.  Her eyes zeroed in on Bucky’s, dark and focused as he assessed the damage to her neck under the collar.  Steve’s large hand covered Bucky’s as he also pulled the collar away from under Darcy’s chin to see what Bucky was cursing about.    
  
  
Ow, it hurt, and she whimpered, shoulders tensing, face scrunching up, pulling tightly and sharply at the cut down her cheek…  She watched Steve’s frown settle, deep and worried.  He glanced at Bucky and they shared a few facial gestures, speaking in their own language from childhood, most likely.

  
“It’s caught under some skin, be gentle.”  Bucky told Steve as they started to pull.  Steve glanced underneath and sucked in a harsh breath.  “Buck, stop.   _Stop_.  Hang on a sec," his hand pausing over Bucky's in a firm grasp.  "Bruce, take a look under here.  The damn thing’s gotta come off.  Look, the skin is trying to…”

  
Steve glanced at Darcy, finally noticing that she was not only awake, but watching him.  She was staring at him, pleading at him with her eyes.  What for, exactly, she wasn’t sure.  But she needed him to acknowledge her.  Tears welled up in her eyes as she sucked in a breath as hands worked around her neck, invading her space, making it difficult to breathe.  She felt like she was suffocating.    
  
  
Her lip wobbled.

  
Steve held her gaze, steadying her.  Not pitying.  He didn’t smile or try to reassure her.  He didn’t give her platitudes.  He reached for her hand, his long fingers closing tenderly over hers, holding on.  She felt grounded, momentarily.

  
“Doin’ real good, Doll.” Bucky spoke softly to her as he held the collar at a slightly open angle for Bruce to see.

  
“Oh my God,” Bruce couldn’t control the horror that seeped into this tone.  His hands moved close to Darcy, reaching to touch her.  “Here, you’re going to have to use the scalpel."  Darcy froze, her hands tightening on Steve's fingers.  

  
“Numb it first, here.”  Bruce handed Bucky the scalpel and Steve the numbing spray.  Steve squeezed her gently before letting go of her hand, leaning over her, his body now threatening to overwhelm her, coating her neck thoroughly with the anesthetic.  And then once again for good measure.

  
Darcy tried to jerk away, her body desperate to escape, but her limbs felt slow and drugged.  “Stop… ,” she mumbled.  “Sto… Don’ touch it.  It ‘urts.”  Her tongue was thick.  Her hand hovered in the air, reaching for something to hold on to to hoist herself up with...

  
One of Steve's hands reached for hers again, only this time, he didn't grab her hand, but her wrists.  Holding them together, he gently, but firmly, held them together - to the bed, holding her down.  She couldn't fight his grip, even if she wanted.  
  
  
Hands were now pulling at the collar on her neck, prying it slowly off of her, away from her skin, dragging her with it… She felt the raw skin on her neck tearing, bleeding, and it was god-awful, the noises she was making.  High-pitched whining gasps, pleading cries, mumbled begging.  She wasn't sure if she was really feeling the pain they were inflicting on her to help her, or if she was so anxious and so on edge, past the point of scared, past her limits, that her skin absolutely fucking crawled and she couldn't take one more god-damn thing, she couldn’t do this anymore, she couldn’t…    
  
  
And Steve was still holding her, his fingers caressing her wrists gently instead of pressing them down to the mattress.  
  
  
“I'm sorry, Doll.  You were so good, you did that so well,” Bucky praised quietly, his eyes now fixed onto hers.  She felt his hand back in her hair, caressing her gently while she wept.

  
“Bruce, damn it.  Give her something.”  Steve gritted through his teeth.  “NOW.”

  
“Already on it,” Bruce sounded on edge, sickened, queasy.

  
“Bein’ so brave, Darcy,” Steve said softly, comfortingly, his gaze sliding from Bucky back to Darcy, following Bucky’s lead.  His voice shook slightly with anger, his emotions betraying his efforts, working to stay calm, working to overcome his own feelings to be there for Darcy.  “So incredibly brave.  You're holding on so well.”

  
“Her throat was cut,” Natasha said blankly, having come over to stand next to Darcy. 

  
“THOSE FUCKING BASTARDS!” Clint erupted, hands in his hair, pulling, in distress as he came to stand beside Natasha.   Steve's hands abruptly left Darcy, hovering in the air, waiting to see if he was needed.

  
Darcy heard a rustle as Natasha dragged him away.  She heard angry whispers from across the Quinjet, and then a hitched sob.    
  
  
Clint was crying.      
  
  
Steve took a shaky breath and looked like he might punch the wall of the Quinjet.  He stepped back away from the bed, and then turned away, facing the wall.  Bucky laid a metal hand on his shoulder and shook his head minutely, his expression closed off - a warning, as if to say, _no, now isn't the time, Steve_.  But there was also warmth and comfort in Bucky's eyes, and Steve nodded back shortly, wiping his cheek with the back of his gloved hand, hiding the tear that had unintentionally fallen, and took another deep breath, staring off into the distance.    
  


He suddenly looked much older to Darcy in that moment, utterly lost.  Maybe a flash that showed his true age, old as he really was, for just that single second.  Having seen too much horror, too much war, too much inhumanity.  The loss of everything he knew, having to live and breathe and grow in an unfamiliar new world.  The struggle... the constant struggle.  He allowed himself a moment to let it all in, and then… suddenly, it was gone.  He pulled himself together, the Captain taking over, fierce and protective, confident and with a plan.

  
Darcy envied him then, in that moment.  To allow the panic in for a single moment, then to breathe and force the calm back up.  She couldn’t seem to get over the feeling of panic.  Perhaps she was just weak.  She'd never be as strong as the Captain.  Or any of the Avengers for that matter.  She was just an intern.

  
Who had gotten very lost.  And very hurt.

  
Natasha left Clint to sort himself out and came to stand over Darcy.  Her eyes met Darcy’s for a long moment, her understanding gaze deep and knowing.  They narrowed as she moved down the length of Darcy's body, taking in all of Darcy’s injuries, cataloguing them.  Darcy shifted under her gaze, uncomfortable and well aware of what she was taking in.  The bruises, the cuts, the dried blood between her legs.  The broken leg, the aching hip, the slice on her face, deforming her.  Her cut throat, the knife in her shoulder, covered in gauze.  Her body was one giant bruise, purple and blue, beaten and broken.  Darcy closed her eyes, refusing to watch Natasha take her in.  Refusing to be a participant in the reminders of her experience and loss of innocence.  She wanted to escape, she wanted to hide, she wanted the dark.

  
Natasha gently covered Darcy’s hip, legs, and feet with a blanket she’d pulled from one of the lower cabinets, tucking it around her as best she could without touching any of Darcy’s major injuries, smoothing the ends down over her feet before letting go.  Darcy pulled her hands up over her heart, the metal cuffs there still ice cold against her breasts, another reminder of something she’d rather not think about.

  
Her arms shook at her chest, and she held herself as best she could, trying to warm as the metal collar was finally pulled away from her neck.  Air hit her neck, cold and biting;  a new hurt.  She felt a wetness on the thin skin of her collarbone, blood most likely, dripping slowly from her neck.  She was positive the skin on her neck had come off with the collar.  The feeling made her nauseous.  She blinked heavily, her eyes were becoming difficult to keep open.

  
“Hand me those gauzes, I’m going to clean the wound on her neck and face and cover it until we can get to the hospital,” Bruce stated.

  
Bucky put a hand under Darcy’s chin, pulling her head up slightly so Bruce could clean and examine the wound.  Darcy cringed at the touch, she couldn't help it.  Bucky's other hand cupped around her neck, his thumb grazing her uninjured cheek in a slow back and forth motion, supporting her head but also holding her firmly for Bruce.  She felt Bruce's hands move to her shoulder blade, fingers lightly pressing into different parts of her her injured skin.

  
“Tony, she's gonna need an O.R.,” Bruce informed, voice full of sadness.

  
“Already on it.”  Tony replied, and then continued talking quietly to Jarvis.  Darcy couldn’t make out what he was saying anymore.

  
Darcy heard packaging being ripped above her.  She felt her IV line being moved around, pulling above her arm slightly.  Bucky's hands moved away from her, laying her head gently on the pillow beneath her head.

  
“They just left it in?  Why would they do that?”  Steve ran a hand through his hair, glaring at the knife in Darcy’s shoulder.  “How deep is it?”

  
“Deep enough."  Bruce frowned.  “Maybe three inches.  Four?  It’s angled downwards.  Might have nicked the top of a lung?  Hopefully, when the surgeons get in, they'll find nothing major.”

  
Darcy felt hands move over her.  She didn’t want hands.  She didn’t like hands.  

  
“These are definitely infected," Bruce murmured, gently prodding at her.  "Let me get some blood samples.  I need to see if she’s septic.”

  
Natasha's small hands reached down to Darcy's, hands grasping around hers and holding tightly for a moment before releasing them.  

  
“Order a pregnancy test, Bruce.”  Natasha spoke softly.  All eyes flew to her, all faces falling.  Darcy glanced at Natasha and then looked away, letting out a wounded sob.  She hadn’t had her pill - what had Steve said?  Three weeks?  Her captors definitely hadn’t used protection.  She hadn’t thought about it before now.  Shit, what was she going to do?  She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t take this.    
  
  
Silence.  She needed silence.  She needed it to be fucking quiet, because she couldn’t stand the noise, the talking, the beeping…  
  
  
“Please, stop.  Please, be quiet,” she begged weakly, voice cracking. _Oh my god._  
  
  
Steve looked horrified.  Bucky gritted his teeth, his jaw locking and unlocking as he stared at the wall above her, his struggle obvious as he worked to internalize his anger.  Natasha watched her carefully out of the corner of her eye, shifting blankets around her and continuously moving to keep her hands busy.  Bruce just stared at the floor, sympathy open in his expression.

  
The medicine was starting to take effect again, dragging Darcy down with it.  She heard glass being shuffled over her head.  Felt another prick on her other arm.  She wanted it to stop.  She needed it to just be still, for a moment.  So she could breathe.  She just wanted to breathe.  Her chest was so tight.  She was tired of needles, she was tired of it hurting.  She hurt, she…

  
She couldn’t open her eyes anymore.  They had shut, finally.  There was something wet on her face, sliding down into the cut on her cheek, burning her.  Tears.    
  
  
She was crying.

  
“This is fucking unbelievable.  She’s still conscious.”  The voice above her growled softly, belonging to the hand that had moved from her forehead to her hair, now gently petting her, attempting to keep her calm.  Bucky.  Darcy couldn’t decide if it was a comfort or causing her greater stress.

  
“How is she awake?  Did you give her a high enough dose, Bruce?”  Steve was appalled, anger now evident and seeping out, his control starting to fray at the edges.  
  
  
“It's her adrenaline.  She’s panicked.  She’s fighting the drugs.”  Natasha reasoned.

  
“We’re close, Darce.  Shouldn’t be long now.  Try to go to sleep.”  Bruce’s gentle voice was like a balm.

  
Heavy boots stomped over to them, the sound echoing in Darcy’s mind.  “Why the fuck haven't you put her under?  Look at her!  Look what those fucking bastards did to her!  She's hurting, damn it.”

  
“Barton,” Tony commanded.  "Come take over here."  
  
  
Clint growled in complaint, but his footsteps tapered off as he walked over to the cockpit.  

  
Darcy let out a short whimper of pain, as the carrier hit a small bit of turbulence, shaking her.  She fought against the drugs.  She had to get up, she had to get out, she had to…  

  
"Easy, I've got you.”  It was Bucky, his voice low.

  
She felt her wrist be lifted, the cuff inspected.

  
“She shouldn’t be feeling too much of the pain,” Bruce replied calmly.  “I’ve given her the most I can give her without anesthetizing her.  And I don’t want to do that until we are in the O.R.  The damage to her heart alone… it’s ill-advised.  She’s been malnourished, she’s dehydrated, this leg needs to be set.  I don’t need tests to tell me she’s in really rough shape.”  He paused for a moment, thinking.  “The only thing I could really do is put her in an induced coma, but that could have serious side-effects.  I’d rather not if she can hang on just a little longer.”

  
“Put her under,” Steve demanded.  “She shouldn’t have to be aware right now.  Shit, this should never have even happened. It shouldn't have taken us over three weeks… _three weeks_ to find her!  Hell, she wouldn't have even been taken had it not been for…”

  
“We are not going to discuss that here or now,” Natasha threatened softly.  “She’s alive, and we got her out.  We are going to focus on that right now.”

  
“Natasha, _look_ at her,”  Steve argued.  “Look what they…”  He stumbled for words, his voice cracking as he searched for how to put into words what he was seeing in front of him.  “How could they… Why didn’t we… How could someone do this to a person?  To a girl?  A fucking human being?  She’s so… she’s just an innocent girl!”

  
“Steve,” Bruce sighed.  “She’s not really awake.  Look, she can’t even open her eyes anymore.  She’s conscious, but she’s not fully aware of what’s going on.  She probably won’t remember any of this.  I’ve given her a high enough dose that she shouldn’t be feeling much of anything right now.  I’ve numbed the area around the knife, and her neck.  I’d rather wait until we get to the O.R. to put her under anesthetic if it can be helped.  We don’t know what kind of drugs are in her system yet.  We don’t know the full extent of her injuries yet.  I don’t want to do anything more than necessary to possibly cause a negative reaction unless I have to.”  
  
  
“I hate to see her so hurt.  She just looks so small...” Steve trailed off.  
  
  
Darcy felt a hand rest on her ankle, squeezing gently.  She didn’t want it there, didn’t like it.  She didn’t have the energy to shake it off.  

  
“Darcy, it’s alright.  We’re flying in the Quinjet towards New York.  We’re gonna arrive shortly.  Rest for now, Kotyonok,”  Natasha murmured to her, hand gently moving a stray, greasy hair off of her bruised face.  Her fingers caressed Darcy’s forehead.

  
Darcy needed her to stop.  Please stop touching her.

  
The beeping from her pulse/ox monitor had been loud and steady, but was now growing faster and more insistent.  Her heart started pounding in her chest, a low, ringing sound began to echo in her head.  Her breathing sped up.

  
“Bruce?”  Tony questioned.

  
“Natalia,” Bucky said, letting go of the wrist he was inspecting.  “шаг назад.” (let go)

  
The hand on her head lifted, giving her a moment’s reprieve from the confusing and anxious stress it was giving her.

  
Steve also removed his hand from Darcy’s ankle.  Darcy breathed a mental sigh of relief.  The beeping from the monitor slowed, steady and even.  
  
  
There was a long silence that stretched between them, the team taking in the realization that their physical presence was distressing to Darcy .

  
“Well, that’s disturbing,” Tony announced.

  
“Tony,” warned Steve.  “Don’t.”

  
“Fuck,” Clint ranted, his voice loud and carrying, as he piloted the quinjet.  Darcy wanted to shrink away from the vehemence in his voice.  "Fuck them, fuck this.  What the fuck kind of fucking person does this to someone?  She's just a fucking little girl!”

  
“She’s twenty-four,” Natasha said slowly.  “She’s not a little girl.  And she's been through hell.”

  
“She doesn’t feel safe.”  Bucky murmured.

  
“How can she not feel safe?” Clint interrupted, his voice carrying.  “We just rescued her.  She’s safe now, therefore, she should feel safe,”  he reasoned.    
  
  
“She’s not going to feel safe for a long while,” Natasha replied softly.  “It will take time.  But she’s strong.”  She leaned in, close to Darcy.  “We will all be here for you, Kotyonok,” she whispered. “You aren’t alone.”

  
“She’s in shock.”  Bruce looked up from his scanner, defending her.  “She can’t be expected to be reasonable at the moment.”

  
“This is bullshit,” Clint swore.  “What the fuck did they do to her?  Someone better start talking, I need to know.  She’s been missing for three fucking weeks!  What did those bastards do to her?”  
  
  
Darcy’s chest tightened.  She couldn’t breathe...

  
“Let’s not discuss it now,” Bruce advised, adjusting his glasses.

  
“Shouldn’t we remove the knife?” Tony asked.

  
Darcy panicked.

  
“No, I want to leave it in until surgery.  Trust me, it’s safer that way,” Bruce sounded confident.

  
“I can’t believe those bastards left it in her.  What the fuck?”  Clint ranted in disbelief.  

  
Natasha said softly, “The particular placement of the knife was perhaps planned.  They kept it in so she wouldn’t bleed out.  Didn’t puncture anything life-threatening.  It was very obviously used as a further means of torture.”

  
“A further means.  Jesus.”  Clint was bitter.

  
“On top of all of the other torture?”  Steve asked quietly, his heart heavy and his voice wavering.  He had remained quiet, off to the side, letting the others do their work, but now…

  
There was another heavy silence that filled the room.  Darcy could feel all eyes on her, and all she wanted in the world was to be somewhere alone, somewhere away, somewhere without prying eyes, without people looking at her, touching her…  She trembled, despite the drugs warming her up from the inside.  
  
  
“What about the cuffs?” Steve asked Bucky.

  
“They’ll wait until she's put her under to remove them.”  Bucky stated.  
  
  
“She’s freezing.  Hand me another blanket.”  There was some rustling to her left, and then she was draped in soft cloth.  It was warm, it was heavy.  Darcy felt herself slowly relaxing once more, hovering just on the cusp of unconsciousness.

  
“Watch her leg there…”

  
“Here, help me just…”  
  
  
“Grab me another…”

  
“Darcy… doll… just hang on.  We’ll be there shortly.”  His voice cut through the murmurs, giving her something to latch onto in the spiraling darkness, his thumb brushing her ear.

  
Darcy finally allowed herself to drift off, the voices around her losing their clarity, withdrawing their hard edge.  Gentle murmurs lulled her back under and she fell willingly, into the depths of nothingness, wishing she could just stay there, at least for a good, long while.

 

***


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my story! Hope you like it!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING. PLEASE READ TAGS.
> 
> A HUGE thank you to Sharon for her time and efforts helping me with this chapter!
> 
> *My very first writing attempt - please be kind. Comments very welcome, kudos much appreciated. Let me know what you think! Updates soon!

***

 

Everything was thick and foggy as consciousness slowly crept up on Darcy. She felt as if she was swimming underwater in slow motion, floating, but being pushed down, struggling to figure out which way was up, to break the surface in order to find that much needed air. Lungs burning and on fire, agonizingly, she slowly became aware of someone crying out, keening and constant. It was loud and hurt her ears.

 

She tried to lift her hands to cover them, but she couldn’t. She was muddled and held down, her arms immobile as something was wrapped heavily around her. She couldn’t move.

 

It was like being in a dream. Eyes wide, she was beginning to notice movement around her, people walking nearby, reaching for her - people in the distance but too blurry to make out. Everyone and everything was in slow-motion, gray and out of focus.

 

Until it wasn’t, and suddenly, haltingly, everything came into sharp focus, and she was looking around in fear, not understanding, but feeling very much in terrible, overwhelming pain.

 

There were no familiar faces, only people in scrubs and lab coats.  Hospital staff bustling around but not near her. The bright lights above her flickered and burned her eyes.

 

She was sobbing uncontrollably, confused, and hurting.  It surprised her at first.  Where was everyone?

 

Her body burned.  Everywhere.  So much so that it was difficult to pinpoint an exact location of where the pain was coming from.

 

The sharp and constant, burning ache in her shoulder hurt the worst, pounding waves of agony into the base of her brain, her head causing her anguish.  She felt incredibly nauseous.  Her leg, which she saw but didn’t truly register, was covered in a bright orange cast from toe to hip, with a large cut up both of the sides, like the cast wasn’t quite closed. Her face was covered with a thick gauze - it made her feel claustraphobic, and her neck -  there was something wrapped around her neck, and she couldn't breathe and she was suffocating, and…

 

“Okay, sweetie. I know you are hurting - I know,” an older, kind-looking nurse soothed, someone she didn’t know, someone that didn’t register. “You are in recovery right now. You’ve just gotten out of surgery and I’m going to help you with the pain.  I know it hurts right now.  How are you feeling?  Can you give me a number between one and ten, ten being the worst pain?”

 

The nurse held a syringe close to the IV on Darcy’s arm.

 

“Te.. ten,” Darcy croaked, crying, eyes wide and tears streaming down her cheeks. “Ten, God, TEN!”  She whimpered, “It hurts - please, it hurts!” Darcy gasped, a painful sob forcing its way out of her, small voice cracking.  Her voice almost didn't register - she was pushing words out, but barely any sound was coming out.  

 

The pain overwhelmed her, her hip throbbing, the bright lights burning her eyes, cruelly reminding her that light hurt.  Craving the safety that came from the dark, needing to distance herself again from the hurt, she closed her eyes tightly, desperate to shut out the pain.  She couldn't curl in - she couldn't move.  Her casted leg felt like a dead weight, holding her down.  It felt as if she were still in chains...

 

She began shaking.

 

“Okay, you’re going to be fine,” the nurse comforted gently. “I know it hurts, but I’m going to make it better. This is going to help.” The nurse gave her something and kept talking to her soothingly.

 

Two sets of footsteps made their way to the side of the bed, a whispered conversation coming to an end. “Thank you, doctor,” Natasha said as she came close, and the doctor stepped away, the rustling of metal rings shifting above Darcy’s bed, the curtain opening and then being closed behind her.

 

“Natalia.”  A deep, male voice from behind Darcy’s head. Darcy settled immediately.  She hadn’t been left alone.  She was being guarded.

 

“James,” Natasha replied evenly.  No further words were spoken between the two, but in that moment, Darcy was so grateful for their presence, reminding her and surprising her yet again, that she wasn’t alone like she thought.  It felt like a comfort, like a warm blanket wrapping around her heart, relaxing the pain in her lungs and chest, easing tension from her shoulders.  She felt herself calm down, felt her breaths become deeper and more even.  The weight of the drugs taking over, she felt heat flooding her veins, a foggy thickness pulling at the corners of her mind, pulling her down, down, down...

 

The chair beside her squeaked against the tile floor as the nurse stood. “I’ll be around the corner - just over there - if she wakes up again,” a gentleness in her voice.

 

Darcy felt a rustling of movement next to her, and heard a chair being slid closer to the bed, before a small hand settled gently in her hair, fingers carefully working through her tangled locks...  
  
  
"The doctors say that she'll," Natasha's murmured voice was soft and muddled, like a mother's murmuring comfort to her child, as she spoke over Darcy to Bucky.  Darcy relaxed further as Natasha talked, and listened as Bucky responded, but Darcy didn't know what either had said.  She didn't care.  His voice was gentle and deep, and she let their voices lull over and soothe her.  Somewhere between the soft, murmured conversation, and the gentle fingers in her hair, Darcy let go.

 

She felt heavy as a warmness spread over her chest, her body finally giving in and she fell into oblivion, momentarily away from the hurt and pain.

 

***

 

Something was pulling on the bandage on her face, and it discomforted her.  She grunted, trying to swipe at the movement. A metal hand gently grabbed her wrist and held on, holding her away to keep her from touching her cheek.  She fought weakly against the hand holding her down, but it didn't budge.  Another hand was laid on her cheek - the one that wasn't bandaged up, a warm, human hand, and her body betrayed her by leaning towards the warmth. 

 

“...just need to let the nurse change this bandage, doll,” he said. “I know it hurts - it’ll be quick. Sleep, Darce...”

 

“...please don’t leave...,” Darcy whimpered brokenly, clinging now to his metal hand - to a familiar presence - his presence, that offered safety the reminder that she wasn’t by herself, that she wasn’t alone in this. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her under his watch.

 

“Doll, I’m not going anywhere,” he promised gruffly.

 

Sleep was once again taking over, and Darcy relaxed, letting him gently set her hands back down to her stomach.  She felt the covers pulled up and tucked under her chin, and a hand softly caressing her hair, soothing her until she knew no more.  

 

***

 

Vulnerable.

 

The feeling sank in her gut and made her feel tense and nauseous.

 

Darcy had woken several times over the past few hours, coming in and out of consciousness as they worked on her. The drugs they gave her were helping in waves, at times rolling high enough to drown out the agony her body felt, and at times falling low, so she would edge to consciousness, pain causing her to groan and shift, irritating her already agonizing hurts and causing them to raise the dosage again to drown the pain again.

 

As she woke again, she didn’t want to hear the words they were saying, didn’t want to really think on it or remember it or acknowledge it. It took effort to block their words out, energy that she didn’t currently possess. Darcy dug deep. She focused on the sounds around her, the wheels to the bed under her, squeaking gently as she was pushed down the hall. Her stomach churned, queasy from the flashing lights and the sharp movements. Her eyes squeezed shut.

 

She heard the beeping sounds from machines going off in rooms around her. The scratch of pen to paper as someone took notes. The atmosphere was cold and the air smelled of a harsh disinfectant. She heard the rustling of sheets being gathered around her as her warm covers were lifted and cold fingers began prodding her, voices around her methodical and asking more questions that Natasha and Tony took turns answering steadily.

 

Darcy tuned out. She was able to ignore the words finally, hearing only the sounds of voices, letting them pass her by without seeping in.

 

She was so tired.

 

Steve’s voice cut through her quiet haze above her, low and commanding, as he responded to the doctor’s question on explaining how she had been found.  She tried to ignore him, but she couldn’t.  She was forced to listen as he began describing the room she’d been in, the state they found her in, talking about how scared she had been and how she had flinched away from him, them… his voice hitched slightly but he carried on.  His hands moved, growing more agitated, his eyes worriedly glancing back at Darcy as he spoke, and he took a few steps away from her as he continued to speak with the doctor.

 

Bucky, the one who had found her, remained calmly beside her.  He had yet to truly speak to her, other than a few comforting moments in her panic or pain, to calm her down.  He didn’t speak up or answer questions that were asked of the group - Steve was taking care of what needed to be taken care of in that department, anyway.  

 

His steady presence near her, guarding her, perhaps, may have been the only thing keeping Darcy down at the moment.  Natasha had come in once or twice, and he'd spoken with her - sometimes switching from English to Russian, and then back to English as if both momentarily forgot where they were, or what time the were in.  Darcy found both of their presences strangely comforting, even if she couldn't focus on their words due to the pain, or in the moments where they were speaking Russian and Darcy couldn't understand even if she wanted.  She still was pretty sure she didn't want to be touched - at times, it felt like any touch at all would absolutely be too much for her to handle, that she would 100% flip the fuck out if anyone tried to come near her with a hand.  Other times, like when Natasha had combed Darcy's hair with her fingers, or Bucky caressing her cheek right before sleep took over - she found that she not only craved that touch, she felt as if she needed it and would die without it.  

 

It was very confusing, and conflicting, and she didn't understand it at all.  Everything felt too big to put any real thought to.  Labelling emotion felt like trying to find a needle in a canyon.  She couldn't see big picture and she certainly couldn't focus on small picture.  She was overwhelmed, and couldn't get a grasp on anything.  Not on what she was feeling or how she was feeling, what she wanted or didn't want.  What she needed or what she craved.  She could only feel overwhelming distraught.    

 

The fight or flight response thrummed deep within her and it was all she could do to remain on the bed. Her limbs were heavy and she wasn’t sure she could actually lift her head off the pillow, but she was thinking about it.  It really wouldn’t take much to just sit up and shift off the bed.  Just a few steps and she’d be outside, breathing in the outside air for the first time in what seemed like too long.  

 

Bucky’s right hand - his warm hand - remained in her hair, his thumb occasionally caressing her forehead, and again - at this moment - she found that it helped settle her.  It calmed her.  She didn’t dare lean into the hand, but she didn’t shy away from it.  It kept her in the bed.  His even, steady pressure against her forehead reminded her that she wasn’t alone and had nothing to fear.  It helped keep the anxiety and fear from crashing against her.

 

She knew she should feel afraid.  She knew she was afraid.  

 

But she felt small and was so tired.

 

“I’m gonna go grab us some coffee,” Clint murmured to Natasha, upset and needing some time to regroup.  Darcy hadn't realized Clint had even been there.  She was having a difficult time staying present, staying focused.  She heard him say, “be right back,” and then he was gone again.

 

She drifted in the clouds.  A long time passed, or perhaps a short time - Darcy couldn’t keep track.  Hours passed, and hospital staff came and went - sometimes poking her, sometimes moving her limbs, sometimes just coming in and having a chat - conversations that Darcy found impossible to try and keep up with, it was all a confusing, thick haze - until Natasha repeated something to Darcy, clearly trying to get Darcy to focus in, “We’ll be right here, Darcy, when you get out.”

 

Darcy felt confused. Where was she going?

 

Her friends were hovering around her. She felt them move around her. Heard them shuffle. Were they leaving her? Darcy struggled to keep up, to latch onto the conversation around her.

 

An orderly came behind her and began pushing her gurney through a set of heavy double doors.

 

Darcy didn’t want to go.

 

“Where… what? No!” She whispered suddenly, her voice nothing more than a wheeze. “No, stop. STOP,” her voice was so weak - she had no voice.  Her eyes popped open as she struggled valiantly against the drugs trying to keep her down.

 

Natasha looked very sad. Tony looked down at his phone, as if it contained some answer to solve this. His brow furrowed and he fidgeted unhappily.

 

“Wait, what’s happening? Where am I going?”

 

Natasha stepped in close, steady eyes comforting her. “Darcy, you have a small complication with your hip and the doctors need to take you back to surgery for a quick procedure to fix it.  You won’t be gone for more than an hour or two.”

 

Darcy began begging, feeling out of control as terror rose up within her, choking her, for them to not make her go, to not leave her. “I don’t want to, please. I don’t want to go. Please… Please…” She mouthed, her voice offering no help to her. “No, I want to leave. I want to go home now. Please don’t make me.”

 

She couldn’t go. Her casted leg felt as if it were weighed down with bricks.  Why couldn’t she move?  She tried to move her other knee up so she could climb off the bed. But her leg wouldn’t move.  She was confused.  She couldn’t breathe.  She couldn’t swallow.  Her head pounded.  She clawed at the bed, weak, yet determined.

 

Steve looked like someone had punched him in the gut. He walked towards her and reached out as if to comfort her. “Darcy,” he said softly, brokenly.

 

She flinched.  She couldn’t help it.  She hadn’t even thought, her body just reacted.  It was just Steve, her mind reassured.  You like Steve.  Steve is nice and safe.  He's Captain America.  But still, she hesitated. Her body grew tense, still leaning away from him.  He withdrew, his quick reflexes making the movement seem purposeful, a devastated frown settling on his face.  He glanced over to Bucky, conflicted.

 

Bucky nodded.  Steve nodded back solemnly, assurred.  

 

“Darcy, you are safe,” Steve told her softly, stepping close.  His solid build created a small shadow over her, that sent a shiver down her spine.

 

“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you again, ever.”  His earnest expression spoke truth.  

 

Steve took a solid breath and let it out. “I’m gonna touch your arm, okay?  That’s all. Tell me if you want me to stop, and I will stop.”

 

Her breath hitched.  She froze, unable to nod or shake her head no.  It was too complicated, what he was asking, and she didn't know... she was just unsure...

 

He reached towards Darcy again, slowly, watching her face as he leaned over, laying his hand on Darcy’s arm, gently but holding her still nonetheless.  Darcy reflexively pulled against him, as if burned.  She yanked, but her body was so against her.  Weak and useless.  She felt out of control.  This was just like the room.  What she wanted didn’t matter.  She wasn’t in charge.  They left her to bleed out, in pain, when they wanted.  This was just like that.  She had no say.  They were going to do to her what they wanted, and she didn’t get a say.

 

A broken sob escaped her. She flinched away from Steve, trying to escape him, pulling away to the other side of the gurney. “Don’t touch me, stop,” she whispered brokenly, achingly.

 

Steve immediately let go of her, his face sad, but not disappointed.  He left his hands hovering nearby, to stop her again if she tried to move.  He wasn’t threatening at all, he had tried to offer comfort - but Darcy felt fear.  Steve wouldn’t hurt a fly - he was gentle and kind and helpful but… he was still a man.  He most likely had manly urges. He wouldn’t hurt her, she did know this, somewhere, inside.  But she didn’t want to trust him. He was a superman.  He could hurt her if he wanted to, and she had no power or control to stop him.  The loss of control weighed heavily within her.  She trembled, curling into herself, cringing away from Steve and everyone else around her.

 

She was terrified and out of control. Terrified of her friends.  Because they were all people.  Men, like the men who had hurt her. Those men had taught her that all men had the ability to hurt her, and that if they wanted it, she couldn’t stop it. Her NO didn’t mean a damn thing.  They took her voice.

 

All Darcy had was her voice.  And that is how they broke her.  And that is why she didn’t want to think about it, or remember it.  And now, she needed her voice back, she needed control… and her friends were taking it from her.

 

She didn’t think these men in front of her would hurt her, but she didn’t trust them enough that they wouldn’t - because they could.  If they wanted.  And she was helpless to fight back.

 

And again, they - someone else - was taking away her choice.  She was saying no.  She had said no all along.  And those men had ignored her, and these men were ignoring her now.

 

It crushed her.  It broke her.  Her expression crumbled.

 

And Darcy completely melted down.

 

The Darcy from long ago would have slapped herself upside the head for throwing such a tantrum, for crying in front of people.

 

Darcy wasn’t the kind of girl who cried.

 

She definitely didn’t cry in front of others. She had the buck up and chin up mentality when life gave her lemons.  She made fucking lemonade and to hell with it all.  She was the kind of girl who defended the girl who cried.

 

Darcy was horrified at her own terror and her inability to control the outpouring of fear and emotion.  She couldn’t stop.  It trickled out of her, like water pushing and gushing out along the cracks of a dam.  Cold fright held her on a precipice and her hands clenched on the sheet covering her, knuckles turning white from her tight grasp.

 

Tony looked panicked.  He looked right and left, as if he didn’t know what the appropriate next step was.  It was very strange to witness - he usually was the man of action.  Shifting from one task to the next, multi-tasking at a level no one else could keep up with.  And yet, here he stood, dumbfounded.

 

An orderly came in to move Darcy to surgery. He was a young man, looked barely eighteen, with bright green eyes, and piercings covering both ears. He unlocked the bed at both ends and began pulling the bed towards the door.

 

“Wait,” Steve said, yanking on the gurney, causing it to jerk to a forceful halt. “She’s not ready. Give her god-damn minute.”  The orderly looked terrified and took two steps back, hands coming up in front of him.

 

“Steve,” Tony started softly, his skin pale and clammy. He looked nauseous, as the day’s stress caught up to his body. “She has to go, even if she doesn’t want to.  You know it.”

 

Steve’s jaw clenched.

 

Darcy hated Tony in that moment.  There was violence in her heart, and it burned her.  She would never forgive him.  She wanted to glare and scream at the injustice, but she was too torn apart.  Tears streamed down her face, wet drops falling to her hands, her covers - soaking her.  She laid there and wept.  She just... couldn't anymore.

 

“I know, kiddo,” Tony comforted, his voice hoarse and full of sadness. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m going to be sick,” Darcy said suddenly mouthed through the tears, sitting up despite the sharp and horrific pain, and before she could lean over the bed, Natasha thrust a small bucket in front of her.  She vomited.  Oh, it burned so much.

 

She hadn’t eaten much in weeks.  She was dehydrated.  She dry heaved some more, and it hurt.  She was sick until her stomach cramped.  When she was finished, she coughed.  Her lungs were full of fluid and made a crackling sound as she exhaled.  Her throat was on fire - she couldn't swallow.

 

Tony grabbed a rag from somewhere. It was warm and damp. He started to lean towards Darcy, to help her and Darcy groaned and tried to shrink away.  Natasha took it from him, and lifted it towards her face, washing her, helping her.  Darcy didn’t fight her, allowing it, feeling less flighty with Natasha than she had with Tony.  Darcy was weak, even attempting to reach for the rag herself - to take over for Natasha, to do for herself - was too difficult.  Her hand fell to the bed.  Tony took the bucket from her and walked to the side of the room to dispose of it.

 

Natasha gently wiped her cheek with it and then her hands. The rag was warm, and although Darcy felt the heat against her skin as she gently cleaned her skin, all she felt was clammy fear.  She looked down at her arm, and noticed how her skin looked almost translucent with her veins showing through as if someone had taken a marker to her, drawing lines up and down her arms.  Tears coursed down her her cheeks, eyes flooded.

 

Bucky stepped up beside Natasha.

 

“Give me a clean rag,” he requested softly. Tony handed him a clean one, taking the dirty one from Natasha to dispose of.

 

Bucky put the rag to her forehead, gently wiping the sweat from her clammy skin.  His face gave nothing away.  His eyes were kind, but his jaw was set.  She looked up at Steve.  Steve looked devastated, but held her gaze.  He had another rag in his hands and was wetting them in the sink.  He walked over to Darcy and set the rag on her lips.  They were cracked and bleeding, and she was so very thirsty.  He squeezed the clean rag, and water drops gently fell through Darcy's lips, wetting her mouth.  She sucked the rag, letting the coolness in it give her a momentary relief from her draught.  When the rag was dry, he took it from her and set it back in the sink.  

 

"More?" he asked her.  

 

She shook her head.  

 

Bucky was wiping behind her ears now, comfortingly.  Steve's arms crossed as he looked down at Darcy, different emotions flickering across his face.  Sadness, despair, a loss of control... 

 

“Please, Steve, don’t make me go…” she pleaded, her voice a crackled mess as she pushed the words out of her straining throat.

 

She started crying when he looked away, crushed, and then refused to meet her eye again, unable to answer her.  Darcy looked around to the others in the room, and no one would meet her eye.  No one had seen her cry before, and they were obviously uncomfortable.  

 

She turned to Bucky, to beg him.  He had been guarding her - he was on her side.  

 

“Please, Bucky - I can’t go, you can’t make me,” tears streamed down her cheeks, burning the flayed skin on her cheek. “I can’t go by myself, I won’t do it.” She began struggling to get off the bed, making it so far as to roll precariously near the edge.

 

“Easy,” Bucky tutted softly as he pulled her lightly back into the bed, his voice low and soothing.  Steve moved near her feet, hands untucked again as if he was cautiously waiting to see if he would have to grab her quickly or not.

 

Bucky stretched across her abdomen and leaned over her then, his metal hand going across the bed to land on the bar opposite of Darcy.  His chest wasn't four inches from her own.  Darcy stilled immediately, shrinking into the bed, cringing and pulling her body tightly into her, making herself as small as she could.

 

“Barnes,” Tony warned tightly, “you are scaring her.”  

 

Bucky didn't even blink.  He just looked deeply into Darcy's eyes, taking in her panic and fear, and gazed back at her, calmly and full of compassionate understanding.  He remained steady.

 

Steve gave Tony a quick shake, no - don't interrupt - but didn’t say anything to him.  Natasha stepped over to Tony, putting a hand on his arm, giving him pause.

 

“Darcy,” Bucky said calmly after a long moment, his voice catching her by surprise even though she had been waiting on it and expecting it.

 

“You have to go into surgery. You have to do this - you’re body needs to heal.”

 

Darcy crumbled and whimpered.

 

“You’ll be fine, doll. They’re going to fix you right up, I promise. But you have to go. I’m sorry, it’s just not an option for you not to go in, darlin.” He gently swept a wisp of hair from her cheek. “I know we’ve been riding you all day, staying on your case since we picked you up, taking away your control of this situation. You are doing good, doll. So good. Bein’ so brave. You are so strong. You keep on bein’ brave just a bit longer. I know this is hard. This is so unbelievably hard. But look at me.”

 

Darcy glanced up at him, a tear leaking down her cheek, her shoulders tightening up, tense and painful.

 

“You are not alone. We’ve got you. You just keep bein’ brave - just a little while longer - and let us take care of the rest.”

 

Steve laid a hand on Bucky, and Bucky turned towards.  Steve gave him a small, lopsided smile and nodded.  Bucky nodded back.

 

Bucky met Darcy’s gaze one last time before stepping away, watching sadly as Darcy’s eyes flitted to his metal arm moving away from her, shoulders easing as he stepped away.

 

When he moved away from the bed again moments later, Darcy weakly sobbed.  She wasn’t brave.  She hadn’t been brave at all.  She’d been scared and belittled. Tortured and tormented.  But his words echoed and she took a jilted breath.

 

“That’s good, Darce,” Steve said, stepping into the space that Bucky had been previously occupying - the Cap in him now leading, confident and sure.

 

“Take another,” he instructed. “Like this,” and he demonstrated, filling his lungs with air and then slowly, breathing out.

 

Darcy tried to inhale, but it came out as a gasp. “That’s good, sweetheart,” Steve said. “Try again.”

 

Sweetheart, huh. That was new, Darcy thought. It shook her out of her terror a bit, and allowed herself to relax even more, ever so slightly.

 

This time, Darcy was able to pull air into her lungs.  She inhaled sharply, and exhaled shakily.

 

“Good, Darcy. That’s real good,” Steve said gently. “Keep breathing.”

 

Natasha nodded at the terrified orderly, and gestured for him to take control of the transport again. The orderly came up behind them and began pushing the bed again, giving cautious glances to the Avengers present, almost making it through the double doors for the second time, when Darcy went into full panic.

 

The door.

 

She absolutely could not go through the door.

 

Her fear completely revolved around that damn door.

 

Bad things were on the other side of the door.  Of doors.  All doors.

 

Doors were terrifying.

 

She shot up, her body arched against the bed, and she couldn’t go, she wouldn’t.

 

Bucky and Steve grabbed her quickly from both sides, and firmly pushed her back into the bed.  Gently, but she was weak against them, casted and bandaged - weighed down.  

 

She was again being held down against her will.  They had to know how this hurt her.  And yet, they kept doing it.   

 

“NO,” she screamed, her voice shrill and violent as she bucked unconsciously against them. “Please don’t, please no, I’ll be good, I can be so good for you - I don’t want to go, please… I’ll be good,” she wept.

 

Everyone startled at that, Steve let go of Darcy as if he’d been burned, a look of absolute horror and devastation on his face. Darcy shook with wide eyes, refusing to meet their eyes, refusing to see how he saw her.

 

Bucky didn’t let go, though. He was currently the only one now keeping her in the bed. She’d most definitely go over the side had he not kept a tight grasp on her. His hands moved from her shoulder to against her arm, holding on to her instead of holding her down. She trembled but didn’t yank away.

 

“Darcy, we will all be here, the whole time.” Steve solemnly promised in his best Captain voice, his voice low and authorative. He looked pained. “We won’t leave you."  He gentled, "Sweetheart, I swear...”

 

“You are good, ” Nat swore, her voice cracking just slightly as she interrupted - her solid emotional armor buckling under the stress.  “I promise, Koyotak, you are so good.”

 

"I can be good," she mumbled, crying.  "I can be good.  I don't want to go.  Please, please..."

 

"Darcy, doll," Bucky spoke, low and comforting.  "You are being so good.  You are good.  Let us take care of you, doll."

 

“We won’t leave without you, Darce,” Tony promised.  "We'll stay the whole time."

 

“You will all need to wait in the waiting room,” the nurse pointed down the hallway to the left, having come in after hearing the commotion. “Orderly, let's get her to surgery.”

 

Darcy reached out and grabbed onto Bucky, tightly, to try use him as leverage to climb off the bed again, common sense and rationality completely failing her.  She had to leave, she had to go.  

 

Steve’s hands reached up and grabbed her wrists, over her bandages, pinning her back down to the bed. Darcy bucked violently on the bed, mouth falling open in agony as pain erupted around her as her body flailed.  Her mouth stayed in a silent scream and she couldn't breathe, she couldn't inhale - oh God, oh God, she wanted to die.  It was all too much.

 

“Darcy, love, calm down,” Steve commanded. “You’re safe, doll. We’ve got you.  Breathe, Darcy.  Breathe.”

 

“Sedate her,” Bucky suggested tightly, the dark undertone to his voice reminding the others of what lay beneath his calm manner.

 

Bucky took her arm gently from Steve, looked apologetically at Darcy, and held it for the nurse. A needle sank into her arm, and Darcy screamed silently, unable to move her arm away.

 

“No, Bucky!” She mouthed, furious. She hit him weakly with her other fist. “NO!”

 

Bucky calmly grabbed her wrist and held them together, gently squeezing them as she ranted. If she had had any strength at all, she could have easily shoved him away, but she was tired and without strength, and the medicine was kicking in. She grew warm and couldn’t stay awake anymore.  She cried out, her voice losing steam and growing weaker.

 

“I said no,” she rasped. “I told them no,” she cried, over and over, she repeated.  "I told them no."

 

Bucky laid her arms to her side, his hand warm and soothing.  "I know you did."

 

"I told them no so many times," she fought to speak, her throat tight and full of hurt.

 

“No one will stop,” she whimpered, falling back, her traitorous body being dragged under by the drugs.

 

The Avengers were shaken. None of them wanted to leave her.

 

“If you would just wait down the hall,” a nurse said, coming to stand next to the orderly, “we’ll get her taken care of.”

 

Bucky spoke up firm and flatly, “I am staying with her.”

 

The nurse looked at him like she wanted to argue… but after a quick glance to his metal arm, and a glance to Steve, watching him cross his arms and stand a bit taller, her jaw shut with a click and she nodded shakily.

 

The medicine kicked in fully and where Darcy’s panic had given her strength, the medicine stole her adrenaline, leaving her weak and whimpering, half unconscious and half out of her mind with fear.

 

But when Bucky stepped up and held her hand, gesturing for the orderly to lead on, she was able to finally let go. “You are not alone,” he whispered.  "I won't let anyone hurt you.  No one will even be able to get close.  And when you're healed from surgery, doll, I promise if you say no - about anything - I will make sure it is respected."  

 

She listened.  She was angry, but he was right.

 

She wasn’t alone.  She was being unreasonable.  They weren't telling her no to disrespect her, they were telling her no because she had lost her mind and was being unreasonable.  It was comforting, she thought, that they were looking out for her, even when she was so far from herself even she couldn't recognize what was going on with her - and that he would help enforce her saying no after this surgery.  

 

It's just... she had said no.  She had said no.  She had screamed no.  She had begged no.  And those men laughed at her.  

 

They had laughed at her.  

 

It hurt so much.  

 

But Bucky had promised he would help her, he would enforce her no's in the future.  He would help her.  She wasn't alone.

 

She just had to keep telling herself that.  

 

She tugged her hand away from his, not wanting the reminder of being touched at the moment, even if he was being incredibly sweet, and caring, and comforting. She refused to acknowledge the look of sad understanding that flitted across his face - so quickly it almost didn’t happen, before he settled back into his blank and calm Winter Soldier persona.

 

He was quickly becoming a stationary center for her to gravitate towards, to help keep her grounded, to prevent her from flying away into the dark abyss.

 

And she was very grateful to him for it. To all of them. They had rescued her. They had gotten her out, taken her away.

 

Removed her from those men. Darcy shuddered.

 

They were keeping her safe.

 

But they was also forcing her to go, taking her control, taking away her ability to say no.

 

She felt hurt, unreasonably - she did realize she was being unreasonable, but couldn’t help it. She was so angry. She was in such enormous pain. She trembled.

 

She felt incredibly alone.

 

Bucky’s metal arm grasped the bar on the bed, as he helped push the bed through the doors, his calm gaze steadying her instead of frightening.  She hiccuped weakly.

 

"I won't leave you alone," he promised her, his expression protective.

 

It hurt to breathe.

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> My very first writing attempt - please be kind. Comments very welcome, kudos much appreciated. Let me know what you think! Updates soon!


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